


Make Me (Everything)

by dynamicsymmetry



Series: Pacify [9]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, F/M, Feelings, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 08:42:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3375062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dynamicsymmetry/pseuds/dynamicsymmetry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So Daryl has started actually setting rules. There are consequences for breaking them. But there's more. A lot more. In more than one way, Beth feels herself sliding deeper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Me (Everything)

**Author's Note:**

> More introspection. But also smut. Smutty introspection. Introspective smut. That appears to be my specialty.
> 
> Back to [the series theme song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OydK91JjFOw) for the title.

Long ago she stopped being frightened by this - if indeed she ever was. She thinks he was always a lot more frightened than her. But mostly she's cured him of that. He still has little flare-ups, things like the return the pain of old wounds when it rains, but he's braver than she thinks he ever has been. Braver than she's ever seen him.

It's beautiful to watch. It makes her so happy. There's too much fear in the world to not be brave.

He's started giving her rules. She didn't expect that, not that, but somehow it's obvious, and when he lay close to her in the dark and whispered what he wanted to try and was clearly frightened again, a little - but he _wanted_ it, she could hear it in how his voice shook even at the level of a whisper - and she felt everything in her flare up like fire and she rolled on top of him, moved her hips slowly against him until all his words bled away and he was gasping. Reached down, took him in her hand, lowered herself down onto him and guided him inside her. She rode him until she came under the stroking of his fingers and it didn't take long, rode him longer until he was gripping her thighs and arching his back and repeating her name in a cascading tumble - _BethBethBeth_ \- and she slid off him and bent to him just in time to catch his come on her tongue. On her lips and her fingers.

She cleaned herself up, didn't waste a drop, and he watched her and it was the only answer he needed.

He curled his fingers into her hair and pulled her head back, exposing her throat, and she let out a sigh and fell against him, and when he lowered his head and closed his teeth on the juncture of her neck and shoulder, marked her, she let the tears flow.

Somehow that sealed the deal.

They always seem to do the important talking without any words at all.

So he sets rules. A few, only. Nothing she can't do. He wouldn't ask that of her. If they eat together, she waits for him. When they go to bed, if they're there at the same time and neither of them is on watch duty, she asks him for permission to join him. If she wants to be fucked she asks for that too, and more than once, because he loves to hear her ask for it - gives her a lazy, teasing little smile and acts like he might not, even though she knows he will.

And then sometimes he doesn't. Just leaves her aching for it, twisting herself into a pile of knots, until he decides he wants to.

She doesn't get to come unless he says. Ever. Not by herself. Not when he's with her. He simply won't let her unless she asks for it. Somehow that's the thing that both frustrates her and pleases her the most, and she has no idea why.

"So how can you be sure?" she asks him at one point, lying on her back with him pressed against her side, his hand between her legs and moving slowly, unhurriedly, clearly intending to do that thing where he drives her completely crazy and then maybe he will or maybe he won't decide to finish her off. "That I won't." She's teasing _him_ now, although her breath is starting to come quick and strained and her hips are rolling upward, chasing his fingers.

He looks down at her, and though he doesn't smile she can see in his eyes that he's faintly amused - and something else. Something deeper. She's silent as she stares up at him, and for a moment she forgets the heat settled in the core of her.

He lowers his head and kisses the scar high on her brow. He's not afraid to touch it anymore. That's something else he's gotten over.

"I trust you," he murmurs.

So that also seals the deal.

There are other times. Other things. He's not afraid, but he clearly needs to be sure. He frames her face with his hands and lifts it to his, and when he does that she feels all over again that she's small with him, that he's so much stronger than her, and there's a gentleness in how he touches her that never goes away no matter how rough he's being with her. He pulls her into his lap so she's looking down at him, straddling him, and it's not even about fucking. He just wants her as close to him as possible. Sometimes she can tell he doesn't quite believe she came back to him.

"You sure about this? You really sure?"

When she kisses him, somehow - again - that's all the answer he needs.

She wants to give in. She needs to. She still doesn't fully understand why, but she needs it. When she does, the rest of the world goes away. Everything that happened to her, everything that was done to her and everything she's done, the way she was torn out of the world and had to fight her way back to it - all of that disappears under his hands. Under the pain, under the pleasure, under everything he's making her feel and how he takes care of her. How he makes her scream through the gag, makes her cry sometimes even when he's not punishing her, because sometimes it just overflows, all of it, and it has nowhere else to go. He holds her after, always holds her, always finds ways - in those moments - to say the things which are so hard for him to say every other time, falling from his mouth like her tears, and those are the moments of the most deep contentedness she's ever known.

She was Beth Greene. She was just this girl. Just this dead girl. Then she wasn't. She was strong. Then she was dead again.

Now, a stranger in a strange land, she's not sure who or what she is anymore.

Except his.

And him, this redneck asshole. Nobody. Nothing. Except when he told her that, he said _was,_ and she thinks he hasn't believed that for a long time. And when she begs him to let her come, fucking _implores_ him, and he finally - joyfully - gives in and gives her his fingers, his tongue, his cock, he's her center of everything.

It's sort of hilariously sad that the world had to end for them to have this, but. Well. Here they are. And she doesn't think there was any other way it could have happened. Maybe she would have found this anyway.

But probably not.

She's not sure if that makes it worth it, and she doesn't really care.

"You sure?" Marked her up real good this time, bruises already forming on her hips and upper arms, her wrists, a bite mark on her breast, scratches on her belly, and she can't see but she's sure there are welts on her inner thighs. Moving around tomorrow will be interesting. "Beth, you... Really?"

She does what she does, what he does, when words aren't working but he needs to check in with her, needs to be sure. And it's more than that now. It's something that means everything.

She takes his hand, presses his fingertips to her lips.

_Remember._

Yes.

And it's all the answer he needs.


End file.
